When the Quiet One Snaps
by Miss Akiyata
Summary: Canada realizes that America is the cause of all his problems and finally decides to do something about it. Afterward, guilt and regret hit him like a stone, and he has to inform the other nations of what happened in order to save his dead brother from their ignorant explanations of why he didn't show at the meeting. If only someone had listened to him sooner. /Character death


Canada smiled sweetly and innocently, though it seemed to be filled with sorrow. He clung loosely to the bear in his lap, whom wasn't paying much attention. He just smiled as he listened to the bickering nations around him. It was the same old thing. They would all argue and fight, not even sparing a glance his way. And if they did, it seemed to go straight through him. His name was not mentioned, as usual, and his turn to speak had been skipped.

Even if the meetings were pointless in the end, he still wanted to be heard. But he knew that wouldn't happen. On the occasions that the other nations actually did notice him...their attention was quickly turned away. Or in America's case, he was simply ignored. But as soon as the other nations were out of sight, the American didn't seem to have a problem talking to him, though what he usually said usually wasn't nice. Actually, the Canadian couldn't recall a single time his brother _had_ been nice to him.

It pissed him off. _Everything_ America said was insulting to the things Canada loved most. Every word always trampled over his heart. As if he weren't beaten down enough by the people that mistook him for that damn brother of his. But did America care? Huh. _No. _He was nothing but an arrogant superpower that drowned out everyone with his huge ego.

Maybe that was it? Maybe it was because of _how loud _America was that caused Canada to go unnoticed. So if he were to disappear- No.

Canada shook his head. How could he even think that? This was his brother. He couldn't just...kill him. No.

This was his brother; America. _Alfred. _That loud-mouthed idiot was the only one that really bothered to talk to visit him. "But he only visits when he wants something from me," the Canadian whispered out loud.

"Dude, you talkin' to yourself? That's so lame," a familiar, obnoxious voice said, startling Canada from his thoughts.

"Huh?" Canada blinked and looked around the room. The meeting must have ended because they were the only two left, along with Kumajiro.

"Stop spacing out, dude. Here," the American said and handed a piece of paper to his brother before standing and heading toward the door. "Make sure ya get everything on the list," he demanded casually, waving over his shoulder. "Later, Canadia."

"Huh?" Canada asked, puzzled. He glanced down at the paper and began to read it. The further he got, however, the tighter his grip became, crumpling it. "That America," he said, grinding his teeth. "He's so...He's such a...argh! Maple leaf..." he swore and let out an exhausted breath. He waited a bit until he calmed down, his bear asking repeatedly for food. After a while, he'd decided to head home and rest. It had been such a long day and a very upsetting one at that. The meeting had been held on June 1st, after all, and he had heard many nations wishing Hong Kong a happy birthday...yet not a single one of them had remembered that it was _his _birthday as well. And then America had the nerve to throw his own party wish-list at the Canadian.

Canada was hurt. How could his own brother be so bluntly ignorant? Or did he really hate the Canadian that much?

After lying in bed, thinking for a while, the pain had been replaced. His insides were now burning with anger. His brother was such an..._an asshole! _Why should Canada buy all of the supplies for America's big Fourth of July party when his own damn birthday had been completely forgotten?

He clenched his fists and growled to himself. Kumajiro glanced up at him questioningly, but that went ignored. His switched positions, laying on his back with his arms folded under his head. He glared up at the ceiling and thought. A few hours passed, and he hadn't really moved. The clock struck midnight. He glanced over at it and sat up, getting to his feet and slowly making his way to the closet where he stored his hockey gear. He opened it and rummaged through a few hockey sticks, finding an old one that he didn't really use much anymore. It was a bit worn down and bent up with some scrapes in it, and the tape desperately needed changed. But for this, he didn't care.

He grabbed it and closed the closet door, tossing the stick onto the bed before heading out to his garage to fetch something. A few minutes later, he came back with a ring of barbed wire that he'd used for the horse fence he was planning to build. He stopped in the kitchen briefly and opened a drawer, grabbing a pair of wire cutters.

Carefully, he wrapped the wire tightly around the end of the stick. He cut it when finished and sat admiring his work with cautious eyes; dark eyes.

Kumajiro shrunk back under the bedside table. There was something about his owner that just didn't seem right. That dark, blank look in his eyes was making the bear nervous...He watched the Canadian glance at the clock again, then grab the stick and stand. He watched the nation leave, a scary determination in the boy's eyes. "Who was he?" the bear asked himself after his owner had left the house.

* * *

Canada stood in front of his brother's house, staring at the door with determination. He took a deep breath and approached the door. Twisting the handle, he found it unlocked. He rolled his eyes at America's stupidity and stepped in quietly, glaring around in the dark.

He hadn't visited his brother in a while, so he could only guess where to go from there. He began down the hallway, trying to walk as quietly as possibly across the creaky floors. If went fairly well, until his hockey stick bumped into something and sent it crashing to the ground.

Canada stopped abruptly at the crash and cursed under his breath, staying still to listen for any signs of movement from upstairs. Suddenly, the hallway light flicked on, and a sleepy voice spoke from behind.

"...Canada...? Bro, that you...?"

The Canadian whipped around to face his brother, whom he assumed must have fallen asleep on the couch tonight. His grip on the hockey still tightened.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" America asked. He spotted the hockey stick and laughed loudly. "You came to play hockey? Haha Dude, nobody wants to play at one in the morning, 'kay?"

Canada's shoulders tensed, and he breathed in sharply before breathing out slowly. He adjusted the stick in his hands before advancing forward. His brother barely had time to react in the sleepy state he was in. He dodged narrowly, the stick crashing into the wall where he'd been standing, leaving a hole in it.

"C-Canada?"

Canada's eyes shifted to his brother again, glaring. He sharply pulled the stick out of the wall and adjusted before swinging again.

America tried to jump back but couldn't make it. Instead, he reached out to catch the stick to stop it from bashing his skull open. He screamed as many spikes were lodged into his hands. He blinked and noticed that the stick had been wrapped with barbed wire, then tried to free his hands.

Canada saw an opening and whipped out a pocket knife using his free hand. He lunged forward again. America ducked desperately and kicked out at his brother's legs. Canada tripped slightly and backed off, harshly yanking the hockey stick back toward himself. The force caused the barbed wire to tear through America's flesh, making him scream in pain as deep cuts were made in his hands. With a quick movement, the Canadian dropped his knife and took the stick in both hands, lifting it about his head. He glared down at his brother with crazed eyes and _hatred_. He swung with all the power he had.

A loud crack was heard, and red splattered everywhere. America lay on his side on the floor, gasping for breath. His eyes were wide in both shock and pain. He tried to scream for help, but his voice could only muster tiny sounds; like a terrified animal.

His brother stood above him, looking down with eyes that held nothing but hatred. He held the stick lazily. Red specks covered his clothes and face. The end of the stick was drenched with it, and the blood dripped off of the barbs.

America's body went numb. He couldn't even feel the pain in his hands anymore. All he could register was that it was difficult to breathe and that his head was throbbing. He couldn't move, but he was aware that the side of his skull had been smashed in. He could feel the torn skin hanging and a warm liquid slowly flowing down his face and neck.

"Ca...Cana...da..." he managed to whisper, ending with him gagging and a large amount of blood shooting out from his mouth.

"This is what you get, Alfred," Canada said cooly, eyes staring blankly. He lifted the stick weakly and held it over his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said and swung one last time_. *crack* _He stood there quietly; alone. America was gone now; no more shallow breaths filling the room. It was only Canada.

He bit his lip, registering that fact. Silent tears began to flow from his eyes. He still hadn't moved, the stick still resting inside his brother's damaged skull. He began to shake with sobs, knees becoming weak. He slid to the ground, loosely holding the stick beside him. He held his free hand in front of his face as he sobbed openly.

"A-Alfred...America..." he cried. "Brother...I'm sorry." Tears continued to spill. His sight was blurred by the salty liquid. He couldn't breathe and gasped deeply as he bawled. "What have I done? Al. Alfred. Al..." His glasses were fogged now, and he took them off to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. As he did so, he managed to wipe some blood on his face, which only caused him to sob harder. He cried like that for an hour longer before finally getting a hold of himself. He gulped and took a deep breath before slowly getting to his feet. He pulled the stick to himself and stared down at his battered brother with dry, yet watery eyes. He looked at the ground briefly, then back up before turning away altogether. He left the house, closing the door gently behind him, and headed home.

* * *

"Has anyone seen America?" England asked the next morning, during the second day of a three-day-long world meeting. It was being held in the United States, yet the host country was no where to be seen.

"Ohonhonhon. Does Angleterre already miss his little Amerique?" France inquired with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"No, you git!" the Englishman argued. "I just want him to get here so this bloody meeting can get over with, and I can go back to the hotel and relax away from you ninnies."

France laughed again. "And I am sure you can _relax_ real well behind closed doors, non? Want some help with that, mon cher?" He winked, and England fumed. Another fight broke loose, and the meeting hadn't even started yet.

Canada sat in the same chair as yesterday. He was alone this time. Kumajiro had decided to stay home for some reason, but he knew the bear had lost its trust in him. After all, what nation's pet wouldn't be afraid if its owner came home covered in blood? The Canadian sighed, feeling dejected. The fact that he'd just murdered his brother was sinking in but still didn't feel quite real. But he knew it was no dream. He had a hockey still and bloodied clothes as proof of that.

"Canada?" France asked. The Canadian jumped, startled, and smiled weakly at the French man.

"Yes, Papa?" he answered tiredly.

"Mon cher, you look awful. Have you seen America at all?"

Canada flinched inwardly. "N-no, Papa. I h-haven't seen him."

"Ah...alright," France told him, sounding disappointed. He turned and walked away without another word and began to converse with the other nations.

Something was slowly ticking in the Canadian's mind. He was right. Without America, he had actually been noticed. But of course, they still had not payed much attention to him. Not even his former care-taker had noticed how shaken Canada was. No...the other nations were too busy wondering where the American was. He could hear them bickering and complaining about the meeting's host being late. The were coming up with lame explanations for why he was not there yet. Canada felt his thoughts twisting; arguing with them.

_"He's not messing with you," _he thought_. "He's not...Why can't you just think that there might be something wrong with him?! Aren't you worried?" _He felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "H-He can't be here..." he whispered to himself, earning a few glances. "He's not...H-He just can't..." he whispered, choking on a sob. Tears began to stream down his face, and he began to break down. Everyone looked at him in confusion and pity. France came running up and placed a worried hand on his back, only to flinch away when the Canadian screamed, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" louder than ever and broke down sobbing again. "Please..." he cried, barely audible. "I-I can't...He can't be here..." he repeated, more to himself. "Not ever..."

"Canada...what are you talking about, mon cher?" France asked in a soft tone, worried eyes watching his former territory.

"America," the Canadian whined as he tried to compose himself. Everyone had stopped fighting and had directed their attention to him; something he had always wanted before, but now only made him hurt worse.

"What about Amerique?"

"He...can't be here," Canada answered with a shaky breath. He clenched his fists and calmed himself.

France looked confused, along with other nations. "What ever do you mean? Where is he?"

"H-He..." He took a deep breath and swallowed before continuing. "He's with the Ancients now."

"What?" England asked, eyes wide in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?!" he accused, growing defensive. "If this is a joke-"

"IT'S NOT A JOKE!" Canada screamed, grinding his teeth together. Before any of the shocked nations could reply, he stood up, slamming his hands on the table and continued. "I know because I- Because I killed him!" he yelled, regret flooding his voice. The other nations were a mix of emotions. They were shaken. France stared at the Canadian in horrified shock, looking heartbroken. And England...his expression was unbearable for Canada to look at.

"You're lying..." the Englishman said quietly. "You have to be."

Canada shook his head sadly and fell back onto his chair, fists clenching and unclenching, shaking uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do with himself. He bit his lip so hard that it bled and choked back more sobs, not wanting to cry again. He'd done enough of that, and he knew that he didn't deserve to act that way after what he'd done to his brother.

England fled the room, quickly followed by the other Allies and Axis. Germany shouted for the other nations not to let Canada leave and continued after the others. France hesitated, looking back at the broken Canadian with a lost expression before turning and following out the door. The remaining nations stayed behind and cautiously watched the boy as he tried not to cry. They felt bad, yes...but they couldn't trust him; especially not if what he said was true.

* * *

"America!" England shouted as he finally approached the American's home. He slammed against the door in a hurry and swung it open, instantly freezing at the sight before him. There was the battered body of the boy he'd raised, skull bashed in and covered in blood. He didn't even have to check if the boy were alive.

He covered his mouth with a hand and took a step back, eyes filling with tears. He couldn't believe this...he didn't want to believe that what the Canadian said was true. But this- There was no mistaking the putrid odor of death.

Germany finally reached the house, being a faster runner than the others, and stopped to glance at the Englishman's strange behavior before turning to follow his gaze. His eyes widened in shock and took in the sight of what once was the proud superpower. The others arrived behind him and pushed to see what had the two strong nations so aghast. Their reactions weren't much different. France turned away the second he'd laid eyes on the corpse...He was in a similar state as England, only he even gagged in disgust, having the urge to vomit. Even Russia seemed uncomfortable and sad in this situation, and he had not been on the best of terms with America. Germany was shaken by the sight, haunted by the memories of burying his own brother. China was surprisingly the least fazed. He'd witnessed many brutal deaths in his lifetime, and though this saddened him, he only wore a somber expression.

In the end, they had to get over their grief and gather America's body. They all did their best to disconnect themselves as they carried off his bloody corpse, with the exception of England, whose tears kept flowing throughout the process.

Germany gripped tightly onto the chains tied around Canada's wrists during the funeral, making sure the boy did not try to escape. Many nations had gathered. Canada cried silently among others; a few nations openly weeped. France watched Canada the whole time, heart heavy for what the boy had done and for the deep sorrow and regret he saw in the young nation's eyes. He didn't want to see this happen, but he knew there was nothing to be done...

Yanking on the chain, Germany pulled Canada up and pushed him forward. The Canadian gulped, then raised his head, looking up at the grave of his brother. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't shed a single tear. His face was blank as he walked up and stared down at America with sad eyes.

"You were right," he said quietly so that no one else could hear. "I'm lame. I'm really, really pathetic," he choked and took another deep breath, shaking his head. "I made a huge mistake...You really didn't deserve this...I don't know...I-I just don't know what got into me." A tear escaped his eye. He continued calmly. "But I won't let you go. Brothers shouldn't die alone, eh?" He leaned down and kissed America's forehead gingerly. "I love you, Alfred," he whispered before turning away sadly and stepping up to the wooden pole at the head of his brother's 'casket.' Russia and China came up quietly and tied his chain to it before stepping away. Canada had one last moment to look at their faces. The fire was lit.

Canada met the eyes of France as the flames engulfed his brother and began to reach his own feet. He smiled weakly to his former caretaker, who seemed to be reliving a past pain as he watched with so much hurt written on his face.

Canada held back a scream as the flames overtook him. It burned so badly, but he just clenched his fists and teeth, unwilling to cry out for the fact that he didn't deserve to do so. His face contorted in pain. He cried, but his tears were quickly dried. But as much as it hurt...he didn't mind. He would be with his brother again...

France watched his son hold back his tears. He watched the boy wreathe in agony...just as Joan had done. The French man's eyes watered throughout the ceremony. When the Canadian had finally stopped moving and hung limply by the chain, he closed his eyes and let the tears spill out. Everything burned until nothing was left. Even after everyone else had gone home, he and England stayed and stared at the charred mess where their former colonies had been just hours before.

"It won't be the same..." England said after what seemed like hours of silence.

"Non...it will not."

England sighed tiredly. "We should go." He turned away from the pile of ash and began heading home. He stopped as he passed France when he realized that the other was not going to budge. He waited for the other to follow or speak. But he just stood there alone, staring at the ash remains. England sighed again and looked to the side. "It's not your fault."

"I should have payed attention to him," France said sadly, and England waited for him to continue. "Then maybe they would both still be here."

England laid a hand on his shoulder and stared blankly at the ash for a moment. He then patted the French man's shoulder and began to walk away. France turned to him slowly and watched his friend go before following behind. He looked back one last time before taking a breath and moving on.

* * *

**This was not supposed to happen. But it did. This was supposed to be about Canada losing his mind, but no. It became sad. I made myself sad. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review.**


End file.
